


Consulting with Crows

by ThePaintedScorpionDoll



Series: Scenes from a War-Forged Courtship [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aeron Tabris, Discussion of Alistair, Gen, Tabristair - Freeform, Warden Alistair, discussion of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePaintedScorpionDoll/pseuds/ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: Aeron seeks relationship advice from an expert, and Zevran provides.





	Consulting with Crows

The next time they have evening watch together, Aeron decides to take the opportunity and prod Zevran for information. It takes her the better part of an hour to actually figure out how she wants to ask him. It takes a least another to summon up the courage to actually do it. As she finally makes her approach, Zevran sits on the ground arranging his poison making tools before the campfire, using one of the logs to support his back. For a moment, Aeron forgets the lingering nervousness and simply watches him work. So many different herbs and tinctures and tonics, all of them so very neatly labeled and organized into a deceptively small-looking case!

_Focus!_

Aeron clears her throat. Zevran pauses, hands resting on a small mortar and pestle.

“Busy?”

“Always. But don’t think I haven’t noticed you pacing around the fire.” Zevran tosses her a little smile. “You have something on your mind, yes?”

“Well…”

“Sit.” He gestures to a spot in front of him with a jerk of his head as he puts the mortar and pestle into a little satchel he then sets aside. “Talk.”

Aeron hesitates. “Are you sure it’s safe to distract you while you work?”

“If I were anyone else, you would be right. As it is,” Zevran answers, “most of what I carry is only dangerous in the hands of those who know how to use them.”

“Fair enough.” Aeron settles on the ground, drawing her legs in. “You’ll have to teach me how you do it sometime. The acid coating makes killing darkspawn so much easier and, I will admit, so very satisfying.”

He laughs a little as he rearranges the placement of two vials. “I told you it would, did I not? But another time. What do you need of me now? How can I be of service?”

Everything she planned to say crumbles into dust. Not like it would have been good anyway. Not with someone as direct as Zevran. (She learned that fast; rather likes it about him, in fact. _Usually_ , anyway.) After a few moments of silence, she manages to find her voice.

“Zevran…you’re a man—”

“When I last considered it, yes.”

“But I mean—like—” She focuses on picking at a tuft of grass in front of her. “You know, you—you’re a man, but you’ve also been with other men, so—”

“Before this goes any further,” Zevran asks, “are you asking for advice or is this leading to an invitation?”

“Advice!” Aeron clarifies, head snapping up. She clears her throat. “Ad—I-I’m looking for advice, Zevran. I’m not interested in sharing.”

“Ah, of course not, and I’m certain neither is he.” Zevran grins at her. “There’s no hiding it, with him; it would be dangerous, if you were less…”

“Less…?”

His grin only widens. “Less of a danger to those who would harm you to harm him. A king has many enemies, you know, sometimes even before the crown is on his head.”

“Then it’s a blessing he has no desire to be king.”

And in the brief silence that follows, she wonders if her answer was too fast or her tone too sharp or (heavens forbid) _both_. Not that it matters now. It’s out and in the air and, at least, Zevran has the decency to pretend she never said it.

“So!” He claps his hands. “Advice!”

“Yes.”

“How can I help?”

“Actually, it’s…” Aeron hesitates a little. She runs a hand over her face, tucks the loose pieces of her hair behind her ears. “Okay. You have to _promise_ that none of this gets back to Alistair—”

“Don’t I always?” Zevran glances at her. “Still, consider it promised.”

“Good.” After a pause, she begins again. “So…when you’re with a man, Zevran, how do you broach the subject of…servicing him?”

“Ah, that depends.”

“On?”

“On how you mean to service him.”

Aeron blinks. “Well, I—I mean with pleasure, obviously.”

Zevran laughs a little. “Again, you will have to be much more specific. In what role? With what activity or with which devices?”

“Devices?”

“For another discussion, I think, but yes! There are quite a number of options, actually—”

“Look, I just want to know how you broach the topic of pleasing a man—” Aeron gives a single loud cough. ”—orally.”

Zevran stops, fingers closed around vial of shimmery red fluid, but his long ears point upward. Slowly, he raises his head. He straightens, vial still in hand. She has the distinct feeling he is fighting the urge to crack another grin.

“Orally?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“As in, you’ve tried to—?”

“Yes!”

“Repeatedly?”

Aeron feels around her for a pebble she might use to throw at him. Finding none, she settles for a groan and a roll of her eyes. “I mean, it’s been maybe three or four times—”

“But every time,” Zevran says, returning to his work. “He refuses every time?”

“Like I said, it’s only been three our four instances, but…” Aeron nods, feeling her face tighten with frustration. “It’s not even like things are _bad_ , otherwise! Things are really… I mean, for a man who grew up sheltered under the wing of the Chantry, Alistair is very—”

“Skilled?”

“ _Andraste’s tits, yes._ Or not—no—” Aeron shakes her head. “No, no, no, no, not…skilled, except—yes, in a way. He’s creative. There’s this thing he figured out how to do with some spare frost runes…” Her toes curl within her boots at the memory. “But really, it’s more that he’s…eager. He’s so very eager. And attentive! It’s adorable, Zevran. It’s wonderful!”

“Is it?”

“Zevran, he treats my body like it’s this _gift_ he can’t believe he gets to receive. He—” She grows very serious. “Try not to laugh at me when I say this, but…Alistair enjoys me. That’s the best way I can put it. _He enjoys me._ ”

Zevran gives her an approving look. “I imagine the same is true for you towards him.”

“Obviously, but I mean, I just…” Aeron lets out a heavy sigh. She goes back to pulling grass, adding it to the small pile growing in front of her. “The moment I’m even close to trying some of what he does with me, he starts to sputter and blush and tell me that I don’t have to—that it’s enough for him when we have sex—and I just…

“ _I want to do this for him!_ Is that—? That’s not wrong, is it, that sometimes I just want to make him feel good despite whether or not I’m—I mean, I _would_ be getting something out of it, too, just not…as immediate? Or _different_ , rather. I’d be getting something different, but just as good.”

“There is nothing wrong with you or your desire to pleasure him.” Zevran tells her as he nestles a series of different vials into different pockets. “Too many people are concerned with their own pleasure as it is, and then they wonder why they have trouble.”

“And I mean I…” She shifts a little. “I just think sometimes, it’s appropriate to—y’know, reciprocate.”

Again, Zevran freezes. His eyes brighten. The corners of his mouth twitch up—

This time, Aeron manages to find a pebble, but misses her laughing mark by a few degrees.

“Wait—!”

“Zevran, this is fucking serious!” Aeron hisses, tossing a handful of her accumulated grass.

“I know—I know—forgive me—” He clears his throat and brushes grass from his clothes. “This problem you have, however, is somewhat rare for me.”

“Seriously?”

“Most of the men I’ve known were not as shy about this practice—nor about praising my talents in the art, for that matter.”

“Oh, well, _good for_ _you!_ Meanwhile I’m only interested in practicing ‘the art’ on one man, and he’s the most bashful man in all of Thedas!”

“Perhaps not that shy, if he’s so attentive to your needs, no?” Zevran grows more serious. “Have you considered asking him why he shows no interest? Communication is very important to achieving greater pleasure!”

“Zevran, if I could figure out how, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“True enough.”

“I don’t want to pressure him. He’s still so new to all of this. We’re both pretty new to this, really. I’ve only…” Aeron draws herself up. “I’m not saying I fucked around a lot—I didn’t—but you grow up in an Alienage; there’s not a whole lot to really do—”

“As if I’m going to judge? I’m not.” Zevran shrugs.

“I’m just _saying_ …we’re new to each other. I can’t—I won’t make him. I won’t force myself on him. That defeats the purpose.”

“Very true.”

“So I’m stuck.”

“Isn’t that why you’re asking me for advice?”

“Yes, but…” Aeron gathers together what remains of her grass pile. “Do you actually have advice or does it involve using some special Antivan concoction? Because if it does, I’m not interested.”

Zevran’s expression turns solemn. “I can be underhanded and a scoundrel, but the art of lovemaking is sacred to me.”

Aeron gives a playful snort, rolling her eyes. “Oh, sure.”

“Hush,” Zevran tells her. “Listen, consider the possibility that our beloved Warden really means what he says. There are some individuals out there who find their pleasure most in the midst of serving their partner and bringing them pleasure. Given the way he trips himself after you…”

“Yeah, but if that’s the case, I’m still stuck.”

“How so?”

“I mean—”

“Communication,” Zevran reminds her. “And, perhaps, the application of logic.”

“Logic? What the hell do you mean by logi…?” Aeron stops, a realization dawning on her. “Oh.”

“Precisely.”

“No.”

“Mm-hm.” Zevran nods, looking pleased—though with himself or her quickly catching on, Aeron isn’t sure.

“Seriously?”

“Of course, I am! Why would I joke about this?”

“Because the rest of you seem to think Alistair’s more naïve than a cloistered Chantry sister. And he _is_ a bit naïve, but…” Aeron shakes her head. “…but there’s no way that’s going to work!”

“Why not?” Zevran asks.

“The logic of it is too simple!” Aeron argues.

“If it was truly that simple,” Zevran tells her, “you wouldn’t be asking me for advice.” He returns to rearranging his kit in earnest. “Talk to him, Aeron— _with_ him, rather. Really try it. See where it gets you.”

“Yeah, I will.” She sighs. He has a point, in the end, doesn’t he? “Thanks, Zevran.”

“As always, you are welcome.” He beams at her. “So! About this thing Alistair does with frost runes…”


End file.
